


A Life in Your Shape

by Nyresnuger



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Character Study, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, golden era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-17 05:33:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29095056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyresnuger/pseuds/Nyresnuger
Summary: “ Go home,” Ana says and she’s not exactly a person you want to disagree with.So he doesn’t; doesn’t ask where that is, doesn’t ask what she wants him to achieve exactly. She just reaches across the open space between them and squeezes his hand in both of hers“Show him around, I think he’d like it out there.”—————————Something aching, about time and home and wanting what you can’t have
Relationships: Reaper | Gabriel Reyes/Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison
Comments: 3
Kudos: 23





	A Life in Your Shape

**Author's Note:**

> So, somebody in the OW gaymers discord brought up Mitski’s ‘Strawberry Blond’ - but make it r76 and I almost started crying, then I blacked out and wrote this
> 
> Just something short, and aching and quiet about what home means and being terrifically in love without ever saying it out loud 
> 
> My knowledge of American geography is very limited, please do not come for me if I’ve misrepresented the biome of Indiana. Most of this is inspired by a brief trip my family took 4 years ago to rural Wisconsin. I am a sucker for trees, and the hazy thing that happens to tree covered horizons on early summer mornings ... 
> 
> And with that - thank you so much for clicking, I hope you like this piece!

_ All I need, darling, is a life in your shape _

_ I picture it soft and I ache _

_ \--- _

Jack starts getting jittery as soon as they reach their destination. The sky starts unfurling in a shape of blue he knows viscerally. The forrests lining the horizon is distant and blue, ragged around the edges in a soft, fuzzy way he’s not sure he’s missed. He feels both much smaller and infinite.

Switzerland is as much his home as this place has ever been, and yet it’s as if the very air is heavy with half forgotten memories, even a solid two hour drive from the well all the faded pasts spring from. 

The overwatch base in Indianapolis is comfortable enough, even as the signs of past destruction linger undeniable in every nook and cranny. He doesn’t know if it was worse here, or if he’s simply grown accustomed to the scars back in Europe.

He stays sharp through the tasks they’re here to accomplish, he kind of has to as the figurehead of the organization, but the itch of time - the stretched time of the landscape and the compression of his own, brief, everchanging pace - lingers against his skin.

Gabe stays at a distance, smiles and huffs softly, rolls his eyes in that overbearing, private way when their eyes meet over a meeting running long. And Jack’s eyes always linger on his hands, sure and scarred.

He’s pretty sure he knows, senses the disturbance somehow, but he never pushes.

Ana too is less direct than she’d otherwise be. It takes a couple days of soft silence and her eyes, dark and intelligent and concerned, boring into the back of his head before she ever addresses anything directly. She sits down across from him one morning. The steam from her teacup disperses into the air.

“Go home,” Ana says and she’s not exactly a person you want to disagree with.

So he doesn’t; doesn’t ask where that is, doesn’t ask what she wants him to achieve exactly. She just reaches across the open space between them and squeezes his hand in both of hers

“Show him around, I think he’d like it out there.”

He can feel his brows knit, not in worry exactly, but something close to it - something raw and soft. “You think so?”

She doesn’t answer, just squeezes his hand more firmly and smiles that slow little smile of hers that’s barely anything but a subtle deepening of the crows feet by her eyes. He pads the back of her hand absentmindedly, slowly lifts her hands until he has his mouth pressed to her knuckles.

“Okay.”

\---

Gabe looks like he understands when Jack asks him, like he’d just been waiting for the pieces to inevitably fall; the longest, most complicated line of dominoes.

“Ana went out there with me a couple years back.” He scratches at the back of his neck. “It’s really nothing spectacular but it’s-” his hands flail and as he always does, Gabe comes to his rescue.

“It’s part of the story.” His head tips to the side, the slight hint of a smile almost lost in his beard.

Jack huffs, an approximation of a soft laugh. More a thank you than an expression of humor. “Yeah, it’s part of the story.”

Gabe looks horrifically soft when he smiles, and it almost feels like getting punched. It’s that open, gentle smile Jack knows he doesn’t send a lot of people - that he pointedly doesn’t let the press catch glimpses of for the fear of damage to his ‘reputation’ (whatever that’s supposed to mean). It aches terrifically because he knows he too has whole sides and traits it’s only ever Gabe who sees.

“Looking forward to seeing whatever hick hole you got spat out of,” Gabe bumps their elbows together and Jack snorts, pushes back just for the record. 

“It’s getting old, Reyes.” There’s no heat to it. 

Gabe looks over, eyes dark and warm. “Just show me the place and I’ll be the judge of that.”

\---

They make it out in the early morning. The road is rough, winding through the old trees. The light that spills through the foliage is bright, buffed by the time of day and the faint clouds torn into thin rows by a wind too mild to be felt down on the ground.

From each side of the trail, the bushes are marching forward slowly. He’s thankful they haven’t taken this trip in autumn, or the road would have been buried in fallen leaves.

“You have to walk from here.” Jack says and stops the car, just under the old apple tree among the oaks.

Gabe looks at him as he climbs out the car, eyebrows quirked like he wants to ask, but he never does. Jack offers him a halfappologetic shrug, it just has to be like this. The last 200 yards, up the slight hill to where the trees abruptly stop and the house becomes visible has to be traversed on foot. He hears the phantom echo of his dad, hounding him and his sisters out of a vehicle far less sleek and fast than this one.  _ Race you the last stretch _ . Only once or twice, only when they’d been in town in summer, but the memory is so strong in his mind it feels like he’d turn and see them standing there. A ritual of ghosts and something halfway forgotten.

“You really weren’t lying about being far away from everything,” Gabe muses as they start walking.

Jack chuckles slightly. “Seventeen,” he states matter of factly, turning to look at Gabe as they walk. Gabe is looking at him, awaiting. “I was seventeen the first time I got any farther than Indianapolis.”

“You’re a parody of yourself sometimes.” There’s something like an almost chuckle in his tone. Gabe is far more generous with softness than people give him credit for. 

Jack aquiesesses with a good-natured hum and a slight shrug. He’s never been as clever as Gabe, not as quick on his feet. 

The trail the last little way is possibly even more diffuse than the one they’ve been driving along. The asphalt ends and the two furrows from frequent travel Jack faintly remember avoiding when walking barefoot as a child are long gone. There’s just the grass and knee high weeds now.

There’s nothing here anymore. The sky looks like a peach, distant and soft and the fields look just like they’ve always looked. Looked since they stopped being corn and soy and went back to simply being grass. The contour of the hills is soft with the swaying of the grass - in this light it seems almost blue, soft and faint.

The treeline is growing fuzzy too, slowly creeping onto the side of the hill. The ground slopes down towards the valley. The summer fog still lays like a soft, grey-blue blanket over the grass down there. In an hour's time, the sun will be high enough to chase the last wisp of it away.

He remembers going down there, to sit at the edge of the fog one early morning and chase the scattered line of the sun slowly down the hill. He can so vividly imagine Gabe’s response if he asked to go do it again; resigned but interested, soft and utterly out of his depth. He wants to meld him into this life, take the good parts of this tiny little piece of his story and imprint it on Gabe’s skin; combine all the things that define and shape him into one whole.

All of their lives are ceremonies of tearing apart, desperately picking up pieces of a world splintered. It’s only sometimes, in certain light and in specific types of quiets he gets the wild drive to start assembling - combine the splinters into a version of himself he just might confidently call a good man.

It’s strange, how Gabe is always a prominent piece in that process.

He realized the ache building behind his ribs gradually, accepted it as a fact long ago on some plane, though he only recently admitted it fully to himself (he’s pretty sure Ana probably realized it on all levels long before he started suspecting).

It’s a sweet, tender thing; that ache. It buzzes in his hands like something living, something at once small and tremendous, too complicated to name or hold.

He lets a breath out that isn’t exactly a sigh, but it waivers slightly around the edge.

“It’s beautiful,” Gabe says beside him. He’s looking at Jack, expression unreadable. He’s too much in control of himself for his voice to waiver with uncertainty, and yet Jack senses the traces of it. There’s something in the air between them, like all the butterflies that should have fluttered against his ribs escaped to hang like unseen fireflies between them.

Little points of light, if he moved just an inch closer it’d disturb them, waves of light from his hands and onto Gabe’s.

“Home sweet home,” he grins, even if it feels watery on his face. Gabe’s gaze lingers on his face for just a single beat before he lets it glide on, take in the rest of the place, single in on the house.

Or at least the remains of it. Nature is slowly coming creeping to claim the small farmhouse once more. Jack pointedly doesn’t do the math of how long it’s stood unoccupied, doesn’t want to linger on the effects of time.

“I kissed Vincent for the first time over there.” He tilts his chin towards the end of the house. He’s not sure why he says it. The ache is dull, a press down on the middle of his chest and sometimes it feels almost meaningful, like a part of all the folding and whetting that made him into the sharp thing he’s slowly becoming. And yet it’s still there.

Gabe looks over. The sun is enough to make his pupils stand out against his iris - usually too dark for the distinction to be noticable.

“Tactical, I must say,” he’s smirking slightly.

“Huh?” Jack already knows it’s a mistake to play along when Gabe is smiling like that, but it’s hard not to.

He shrugs, casually lifts a hand to push his hair back. “Just, I imagine it’s hard to flee from out here.”

Jack snorts, shifts on his feet, “shut up.”

The silence stretches. The sunlight deepens in color as the sun starts staring down at them from a higher vantagepoint. The very air seems golden and heavy, like there might be a thunderstorm brewing a few days out from now. 

Gabe looks good, and even the thought feels beyond unprofessional. This light, harsh but golden, the sky like an impressionist painting behind him: It paints him like something worth capturing, worth adoring. His outline is crisp against the hasty brushstrokes of thin clouds and sunlight poking through. He looks younger too, like the last five years of a war swelling and thundering aftershock hasn’t quite reached him all the way out here.

Like he’s somehow shrugged off all the years Jack feels heavy on his shoulders. 

“Come,” Jack bounces slightly on his feet, as if to shake the thought off. “Let me show you around.”

He’s not sure they should actually try going in the house, but they do so anyway. He imagines the headlines:  _ Overwatch Leadership Crushed in Senseless Accident.  _ He’s pretty sure Ana would find a way to kill him a second time if he went ahead and got them killed by ‘shitty old house’.

It’s empty. Of course it is. 

Somehow it feels even more empty than the endless mounts of rubble they’ve struggled through in search of omnics gone rogue, they at least had the bittersweet taste of a place left unwillingly; scratchy graffitti as a stubborn reminder somebody longed to return and mark it.

Here, somebody left, never to return, and kept that promise. 

Had it not been for the dirt and dust and small green things spreading even in the sparse sunlight, it would have been almost pristine. From where they enter through the front door, they can’t even see the corner of the house that has succumbed as the first and collapsed in on itself.

“And your room was?” Gabe is spinning slowly in the living room. It’s not quite awe that sits on his face, but perhaps the distant cousin to it.

“Upstairs.” 

The light slants through the windows, paints him in jagged stripes when he grins. “Damn, I’d hoped I got to see it.” He eyes the ceiling, already covered in unhealthy spots and caving in slightly.

Jack follows his eyes, his nose scrunching up. “Probably not a good idea.”

“Then what else is interesting?” Gabe crosses his arms, rests with his hip against a wall and it’s only cause Jack has known him this long and this intensely he catches how there’s a slight stutter to the movement, testing if the wall will withstand the pressure. He’s smiling, sharp but not inconsiderate.

“I don't like that look.”

“Hey, I thought I was walking away with at least some blackmail material.” He shrugs, lips splitting into a true grin.

“I’m sorry, I’m clean.” He raises his hands to deflect, holds the eye contact steady even as his head tips down

“A saint.” It’s low and raw in a way Jack isn’t ready for. The teasing edge is still there, but something buzzes like bees hurrying home in columns of orange sunlight between them. Jack stumbles a tad in his response, his chest heavy, there in the quiet of a home long abandoned. 

The vision of a future, hazy and unformed, only halfway dared imagined, glides in in front of it and he has to shake his head slightly, like a dog shaking water out of its fur, to get it to clear. He can’t let himself picture Gabe in a house like this - humble and bathed in slow summer sunshine. He just knows he can’t. 

“Anyway,” he looks away. “Actually.” He’s saved by a rare good idea, the grin that cracks over his face is bright - apparently bright enough Gabe starts looking slightly worried. “There’s something I can show you.”

\---

“What the fuck Jack.”

Gabe is looking at him with not a single hint of emotion in his face.

“Oh come on,” Jack’s already shrugging his jacket off. “I swear, this is the best tree in a ten miles radius.”

“Do I want to know if you’ve checked?”

Jack just tsks, jumps up to grab onto one of the thick lower branches. As a kid this was a feat of almost herculean proportions - stretching to get your nails into the bark and painstakingly pull until you could swing your legs around the branch. Now, it’s no feat at all.

Gabe still looks up at him with a sort of determined hesitation.

“Come on.” Jack pats the tree as he stands up on the branch, looks around for the next place to climb to.

The massive pinetree has stood like a silent giant for as long as Jack can remember, just a short walk out from his childhood home. He remembers being sure it reached into the heavens - that you could climb and climb until the clouds parted beneath you; the broad, even branches like a ladder designed for a creature far greater than a gangly boy of 8 with bruised knees and a blonde cowlick.

Gabe reluctantly starts too, hauling himself up onto the lowest ring of branches. He straddles the thing, his feet dangling off on each side. “Happy?”

Jack is already in the process of climbing higher, ducking under a cluster of smaller branches to get a better grip.

“We’re going up, soldier,” Jack nods signaling upwards. 

“Don’t you fucking  _ soldier _ me, blondie.” Gabe is getting up, leaning close to the trunk as he scouts the next place to place his feet.

Jack probably hasn’t climbed a tree in fifteen, maybe twenty, years and he imagines Gabe fares just as bad. And even so, he quickly regains his usual sure demeanor - strong hands decisive and determined against the branches when he pulls himself up. 

It’s still so much a treat to see Gabe even slightly out of his element Jack can’t help but poke further. He waits until Gabe hesitates too long, feet skidding on the bark and arms suddenly tightening desperately around the trunk.

“Oh, the great Gabriel Reyes, scared of some bark?”

“Fuck off.” He’s too concentrated on getting back to solid ground for there to be any heat to it.

Jack snorts, crawls a little to the right to allow Gabe to hoist himself up beside him. He sits down in the Y-shaped nook of a splitting branch. Gabe looks at him inquisitively. “Thought you wanted to go up?” He tears one hand from the tree to gesture vaguely at the branches above them, still sturdy enough to be climbed at least a couple layers more.

Jack shakes his head.

“This is the best place.” He scoots over slightly to allow Gabe to sit next to him, leaned against the trunk.

It’s apparent the tree has grown, however subtly, over the years he’s been gone, but his spot is still there. The foliage suddenly breaks away, forming the perfect frame when you’re sitting on one specific branch. Like a framed panorama of the valley. It suddenly becomes clear how high up you are, how small the house seems and how close the horizon seems to come.

Jack hears Gabe exhale softly at his side, knows that if he looked over he’d see him with his eyebrows slightly raised, expression like surprise and soft awe.

“It’s certainly something else from up here.” His voice rumbles with quiet amusement. 

Jack nods. “It knows its angles.”

The sky is immense and blue. The rows of hills, covered in forest and almost vibrating in the breeze, lay like sleeping giants, fainter and fainter blue the farther away they are. Jack spots a bird of prey gliding lazily far away. He points it out to Gabe.

“That’s a fucking pigeon.” 

Jack huffs a laugh. “No it aint!” He bumps their shoulders together. Gabe looks at him with utmost disbelief. Jack rolls his eyes. “I’m calling expert on this one.”

The look in Gabe’s eyes when he acquiesces lets Jack know he still very much doesn’t believe him.

Jack snorts with laughter again. “Okay, how much do you owe me when it dives?”

“Me?” he presses a hand to his chest in faked affront. “A gambling man? How dare you. I would never stoop to such lows.” he shakes his head overdramatically, unable to keep the grin fully off his face.

Jack shoves him playfully in the shoulder again. “Coward.” 

Gabe shakes his head good naturedly. The bird never dives, it keeps floating in lazy circles too far out for Jack to be able to determine the species. The clouds leave diffuse shadows over the hills, slowly herded over the landscape by the sun like meek, fuzzy cattle. 

“Thank you,” Gabe says suddenly. His voice is low and frayed. Jack looks over, but Gabe keeps his eyes forward and slightly down. His hands raise to gesture vaguely when he finally tips his head to meet Jack’s eyes. “For taking me out here. I know it’s probably a lot.” He does a more decisive wave down towards the house.

Jack grumbles, shrugs slightly. The tone is hard to place, he’s not even sure of the intention. 

Gabe’s eyes linger on him, face open and eyes bright, taking in every little detail of Jack’s face. The corner of Jack’s mouth curls in the smallest of smiles, somehow both sad and hopeful. 

He pulls one leg up onto the branch, leans with his crossed arms on the raised knee.

“You know,” he gestures out over the grass, what would have been his family’s fields fifteen years ago. “I used to think this was what I wanted.”

Gabe hums inquisitively.

“That I could just-” he shrugs. “I don’t know, marry Vincent and settle down, grow some corn and sit on a porch. Get a dog.” He laughs, short and breathy, lays his head on his arms. 

Gabe watches him, his eyebrows slightly raised and drawn together. Jack has to break the eye contact when it gets too much, too raw and too intimate. “We’d only been together for six months when I started thinking about it,” he laughs again, a little less scratchy. “Wasn’t even out to my dad yet.” He sighs, a weird mixture of fond and regretful. 

“Guess I’ve always been good at craving,” he adds as an afterthought, half in jest. 

The silence stretches. Gabe shuffles in place, his feet dangle when he leans back against the trunk. He starts kneading slowly at his left palm, looking down on his hands without seeing them.

“A baker.” 

Jack looks over when he speaks. He’s still looking down, scratching dirt out from under his nails with slow, methodical movements. His shoulders bounce slightly and he looks up at Jack.

“I used to want to be a baker. My aunt, she had this little bakery and I remember always saying to her  _ ‘tia, this could be big _ ’,” his hands mark the beats of his speech in the air. “I was what? Sixteen.” He snorts softly, looks over at Jack with a mirthfully conspiratorial look. “It’s amazing she didn’t just throw me out - some nosey little kid who thinks he has the answer to everything.”

Jack laughs too, a soft short thing. The silence stretches again. Gabe drops his hands, his shoulders slumping completely. He seems at once open and like he’s guarding himself off. His voice is weirdly hollow when he speaks:

“I don’t even know if it’s there anymore.” 

Jack looks at him. He wants to reach out and touch him, try to ground him in a reality that sometimes feels like it’s fraying at the edges. Worn thin by everything and only really tangible when Ana clutches his hand under the table at yet another fruitless, terrific meeting or Gabe rests a hand on the nape of his neck in the quiet, private moments.

But he doesn’t. Instead he looks out over the landscape, tries taking in the shape of the house like a neutral thing instead of the gentle ghost it really is.

He huffs a small, undefined laugh when he looks back at Gabe, wills his posture to be more relaxed when he shrugs,

“It probably wouldn’t have worked out anyway. Can you imagine? John Morrison, farmer with a tractor and a dog.”

Gabe grins, shakes his head slightly. The smile Jack sends him is barely there.

The quiet settles in once more, slow and syrupy and most of all comfortable.

“So Jack came later?” 

“huh?” He didn’t even realize how zoned out he’d managed to get. The horizon suddenly gets much sharper when he focuses in again, tilts his head to look at Gabe.

“‘Jack’, it’s a thing from,” he stalls slightly, then gestures aimlessly around them. “It’s from after here.”

“No,” Jack’s brow furrows, he hasn’t thought about it for years. His voice sounds far off when he answers. “No.” He scratches at the back of his neck. “Jack was a my mom thing.”

Gabe nods, very slight. 

“I don’t think she wanted me to inherit the farm, even back then.” He has no idea why he says it, it just spills out. Gabe is looking at him with soft interest. He peels off a loose piece or bark. “I think she could sense that I was,” he picks more incessantly at the bark. “Restless I guess.”

He winces slightly, and Gabe follows up with a knowing laugh. Jack sits up with a slight sigh, a smile like he wants to apologize for the over sharing. “I guess I just couldn’t really figure out anything else to dream of.” He averts Gabe’s eyes, shrugs apologetically.

“I think it was a fine dream.” Gabe rumbles after a beat. His voice is hard to figure out, breathy and low. It sounds a little like people sound right after they’ve been crying, raw and compact, but the grief that waivers over the tone is faint enough to almost be nonexistent. He smiles at Jack and it’s heart wrenching. “Maybe dreams just have to adapt.”

Jack smiles back, unevenly. “Yeah.”

Gabe drops the eye contact, corrects how he’s sitting with a shrug like he’s trying to disturb the heavy air around him. “Though I could have lived without the murder robots.”

Jack snorts, puffs him gently in the side with the toe of a boot, but doesn’t say anything.

“Maybe when it’s over,” he muses after a beat.

Gabe sighs heavily, his shoulders moving uncomfortably. “Do you think it ends?” He answers Jack’s questioning look with a roll of the wrist, like he’s grasping for the words. His brows knit together, “I mean, it  _ did _ end. We  _ won _ , I don’t think I can go back home and open a bakery any time soon.”

His tone isn’t as bitter as it could be. He sounds tired. In this light he looks both younger than he is, and like there’s too many years pressing down over his chest.

Jack can feel his brown crinkling. Again, he speaks without even really meaning to:

“I hope we get to”

Gabe doesn’t comment on the  _ we _ . 

Jack’s chest feels heavy like he’s never felt it before. The light floods in through the branches. Long, vibrating lines pulled over Gabe’s skin. Jack wants to smooth his brow with a thumb, caress the edge of his mouth and tell him in whatever way he can, with all the words that seem to flow like water only in these moments between the two of them, that it’s all for Gabe.

That it’s all for  _ this _ . There hasn’t been anything else for a while.

There’s only the dull ache and grass swaying in the wind and time like a physical thing slowly changing everything around them slowly and everything within them all too rabidly.

_ Run away with me.  _ He thinks, loud enough it almost has to transfer.  _ We’ll find some beautiful place halfway between here and Los Angeles and build something like this, but without all the ghosts and with a better kitchen, something distinctly ours. And all the time I have left, that isn’t marred by memories or war, it’s yours if you want it.  _

He never says any of it out loud, of course he doesn’t.

All the distance in the world is insignificant. There’s just the few measly inches between their hands, the space his hand would have to traverse to touch him and let it mean something. All other space doesn’t matter.

Gabe’s feet swing over the edge and Jack is viscerally thankful for the way summer colors the light out here; soft and golden and seemingly never ending.

It’s easy to pretend like this. Easy to ache in a way that at least feels poetic.

  
  


\---

Ana looks tired when they return, but when does any of them not look just a tad tired. She pulls him into a brief, sideways hug and he lingers too close to her side. The sky has colored in soft purple, glowing pink near the horizon as the sun sets. It’s strange, how serene it all feels.

Jack doesn’t quite know if it’s easier or a thousand times hard to breathe back with Overwatch again. The waves of this hectic, important life is starting to lap against them again.

Gabe squeezes his hand, quick and flighty but heartfelt, before they part and the sky is purple like a fading bruise, but there’s not a cloud in sight.

—-

Again, Ana is quiet for a while before she isn’t anymore. They’re all the way back in Switzerland again, haunted by newer specters, before she even breaches the topic.

“He’s yours, you do know that right?”

The steam from Ana’s teacup is once again dispersing in the air. Her hands are strong and delicate around the cup.

“And you’re his, whether you want to be or not.” She says it like she’s reading lines from a book of fairy tales, with all the probing certainty of somebody familiar with the story but not the exact lines.

He looks up at her. Her gaze is steel, like it always is. Unafraid and steady. His own eyes waiver a tad.

He wants to tell her everything, all the little pieces that ensure he fits with Gabe, that makes them horrifically  _ each other _ ’s in a way that feels both hopeless and endlessly meaningful. Wants to tell her of all the aching and the want that sits like something heavy under his throat, wants to tell her everything that makes it impossible and strained, all the tightropes they walk to even survive and how this is already tightening around him like the prettiest noose even without the inevitable consequences of fraternization - of caring too much and wishing for too much and too little all at once. Of already residing among the stars and deciding the moon was never the goal, but to reach for Venus or Saturn instead.

But she already knows all of it.

So he says the only thing that feels just a little like the truth:

“I know.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so, so much for reading!
> 
> This is, admittedly, kind of boring and nothing happens, but I hope you could at least feel The Vibes!
> 
> Comments keep me alive and healthy, if you have the time please consider leaving one!


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